Shakespeare
Vern distracting him with sudden movements
Hayfever from the dust on the library books
Being temporarily blinded by the neon lights
The library floor is uneven
My high-pitched Thisby voice making him laugh and putting him off
Fatty’s silent farting that only Boggo could smell
The noise outside the library
The lack of a director
Rehearsing in the library
A pigeon roosting in the eaves
Tuesday 11th August
I’ve been wondering why girls are always opening letters and packages at breakfast. This morning I solved the mystery. At Wrexham your daily post is delivered directly to your table setting … and there it was: my first post – also the first out of all the boys.
The square cardboard box was covered in shiny red paper, and had already created a stir around our section of the dining hall. I couldn’t help but notice traces of butter on the inside fold of the wrapping paper where Boggo had tried to molest my package with his knife. The surrounding tables of girls were also watching me with great interest as I sat down casually with my French toast and freshly squeezed orange juice.
‘What are you waiting for – open it,’ demanded Boggo in a desperate voice.
‘It must be from a chick!’ said Fatty as he licked globs of peanut butter off the ends of his fingers. Rambo snorted and pretended that he wasn’t in the slightest bit interested in my mystery package.
‘Open up,’ shouted Boggo. ‘And don’t even think about opening it in private because we’ve got keys to your room.’
I must admit I was enjoying all the attention. I also know that with attention comes the threat of disaster and humiliation. I slowly opened the package and lifted off the lid of the box. Inside was a framed picture of Amanda in the nude. It was identical to the one hanging on her wall, except half the size.
Boggo ripped the frame away from me and then uttered a loud yell when he realised that it was Amanda in the nude. Then there was a mad tug-of-war for control of the frame, with me clutching onto one corner for dear life.
‘You boys!’ shouted Mr Owen, looking livid, hands placed firmly on hips. We all froze in horror with our hands still all holding onto the frame.
‘Give that here!’ she ordered and held out her hand. Boggo reluctantly placed the framed picture of the naked Amanda into the porky hands of Mr Owen. I felt my skin tingling and prepared myself for the worst.
‘Mmm,’ said Mr Owen as she appraised the image of my ex-girlfriend in the nude. She then looked at Rambo and said, ‘And who belongs to this?’ Her gaze returned to the frame and I feebly raised my hand to a chorus of sniggers and giggling.
‘You’ve done rather well for yourself, young man,’ said Mr Owen with a surprised expression on her face. ‘Such a scrawny, nondescript little chap.’ She then handed the naked Amanda back to me and ordered me to keep it in my bag and out of sight. I obeyed and Mr Owen rumbled off, shaking her head and looking astonished that the girl in the picture should be interested in a boy like me.
‘It’s lame anyway,’ said Boggo. ‘You can’t even see her gazoombies.’
I left the dining hall with the naked Amanda pressed to my chest.
Wednesday 12th August
6:10 ‘I heard a girl sent you a naked picture yesterday,’ said Penny in a loud demanding voice. I was in no mood to be talking to the imps at this hour of the morning, especially about my complicated private life, so I ignored her and made a beeline for the kettle.
‘Boggo said in the picture your girlfriend was doing funny things with a horse,’ said Brenda with a nervous expression.
‘Never believe a word Boggo says,’ I replied. I tapped the kettle a few times, hoping it would boil faster than usual.
‘Why did your girlfriend send you a nude photograph of herself?’ persisted Penny, clearly not sensing the hostile vibe I was giving off.
‘She’s not my girlfriend and it’s a painting, not a photograph!’ I snapped, starting to lose my cool.
‘Who did the painting?’ asked Brenda.
I was beginning to feel like an idiotic cow who had become stranded in a pond and was very quickly being eaten alive by two vicious piranhas.
‘What’s your girlfriend’s name?’ asked Penny as she began preparing Lord Fatty’s morning tea.
‘You two are worse than Garlic!’ I shouted exasperatedly, as the two piranha girls fussed and bossed and questioned about me
‘Is Garlic your girlfriend?’ asked Brenda.
‘More like his boyfriend,’ said Boggo as he strode across the common room with a footstool covering his groin.
The girls giggled and Brenda’s attention immediately centred on Boggo. ‘Would you like some tea, Boggo?’ she cried.
‘Make me two cups,’ said Boggo, carefully guiding the legs of the stool through the common room door.
‘Is Fatty awake?’ trilled Penny, but Boggo was gone and didn’t answer.
‘He’s hilarious!’ said Brenda, still looking at the common room door as if Boggo might suddenly reappear. I took the gap, grabbed my teacup and charged back to my room only to find Vern biting his toenails and laying out the splinters across his pillow.
15:00 Still mulling over Amanda and what she’s up to … Tried to call her, but the young whippersnapper who answered the phone said she was studying for trials and then berated me for calling during ‘Quiet Time’.
Friday 14th August
At times I have to agree with Boggo that this is a thoroughly odd school. Perhaps this is the way all girls’ schools operate? This may also explain the weirdness of women in general.
Sunday 16th August
THE LIBRARY
13:30 Energy was pumping off the library walls. The mechanicals were finally ready to join the rest of the cast and strut their stuff before the girls. The Guv gave us a rousing team talk beside the theology shelf, and warned us about getting carried away in front of the girls, and being intimidated by Viking’s constant ranting and raving.
We then executed a word-perfect run through of all our scenes before The Guv shouted, ‘To the school hall at once! We will meet; and there we may rehearse most obscenely and courageously. Take pains; be perfect: adieu.’
He thumped his walking stick into the floor, swung round on his toes, and strode purposefully out the library.
THE SCHOOL HALL
14:30 Nobody witnessed our arrival because Viking was in the middle of a long and abusive lecture on theatrical etiquette. He then informed the assembled group of frightened actors and actresses that they weren’t up to scratch and threatened to rehearse all night if things didn’t improve.
Despite the disappointment of not working with the rest of the cast and rehearsing in the library, it suddenly seemed a relief to have missed two weeks of Viking’s furious temper. From today we will no longer have that luxury.
‘Aah!’ shouted Viking when he finally noticed the six of us. ‘The rude mechanicals have arrived, and I would very much like to see your opening scene immediately.’
Viking ordered the rest of the class to sit around the front edge of the stage and the mechanicals lurched into action. I was engulfed with nausea and my head misted up with the fear of failure. Worse news was that the gorgeous Victoria Perez Hamilton had seated herself no more than five paces from the spot where I spend most of the scene listening to Peter Quince and Bottom arguing.
The whispers faded and Viking called out, ‘Right! Act I Scene 2. Begin!’
Boggo, looking as pale as a ghost, staggered forward onto the stage with the rest of us shuffling along behind. And then … nothing. Boggo didn’t say his opening line. There was a long silence as Boggo stared out at the auditorium with unblinking eyes like he was staring at a rapidly approaching tidal wave.
‘Well?’ came a booming voice from somewhere near the back of the hall.
Boggo was frozen with terror. His eyes seemed to roll
back into his eyelids and a soft moan escaped his lips like he might be on the verge of singing.
‘What’s going on, Greenstein?’ demanded the voice at the back of the hall.
‘Nothing, sir,’ said Boggo, suddenly finding his normal voice. ‘I was waiting for your instruction to begin.’
‘But I just told you to begin!’ The voice was moving rapidly forward.
‘I didn’t hear you, sir. The acoustics in this place are dreadful.’
Viking leapt up the stairs, taking them in fours. He charged up to Boggo and grabbed him roughly by his jersey. ‘Greenstein!’ he screamed. ‘Do you think I have the kind of time to waste on people waiting for instructions that I have already loudly and clearly given?’
‘No, sir,’ stammered Boggo, turning deathly white again.
‘Right!’ roared Viking, releasing his grip on Boggo’s school jersey. ‘Act I Scene 2, from the top. And make it snappy!’
We marched off the stage prior to making our second entrance. Boggo pulled me aside and whispered desperately, ‘What’s my first line?’
‘What?’ I replied, not sure that I had heard him properly.
‘My first line!’ he repeated in a strident whisper. ‘Spud, please help me, it’s gone!’
‘Act I, Scene 2. BEGIN!’ thundered Viking from the back of the auditorium. Fatty gave Boggo a firm shove onto the stage. I could see his legs were shaking badly and he shuffled forward like his knees were about to buckle on him at any moment.
‘Is all our company here …’ I whispered, hoping my voice would reach Boggo and no further.
‘Is all our company here?’ said Boggo in a confident voice.
The Guv leapt forward as Bottom and said, ‘You were best to call them generally, man by man according to the scrip!’
The girls laughed at The Guv’s Cockney accent and instantly it felt like we were back on track. Unfortunately, there was then another long and awkward silence with Boggo once again staring out terrified and white faced.
‘What now, Greenstein?’ came the director’s voice. ‘Line!’
‘I know my line, sir,’ said Boggo once again in his confident voice. ‘It’s just that I’m meant to have a scroll to read out the names.’
‘Yes … yes, I know, Greenstein,’ said the re-approaching Viking. ‘Just mime it or use a piece of paper, for God’s sakes!’
‘But I’m a method actor, sir,’ replied Boggo. ‘Like Dustin Hoffman.’
Viking snapped. He charged back onto the stage and grabbed Boggo by the jersey again. He then shouted on about his method being the only method to be used around here. Once he was done with his shouting and abuse he boomed, ‘Act I Scene 2! From the top and so help me God if we have to stop again –’
We did have to stop again.
Viking blew his top ten seconds later when Boggo forgot to enter through the assigned tape markings and ended up leading the mechanicals through two walls and the Duke’s courtyard. This time Viking really cracked. With a swift and dramatic movement he slammed Boggo’s head into the prompt’s desk. There was a horrified gasp from the girls and Brenda immediately started blubbing. Boggo collapsed onto the floor in dramatic fashion and wailed that his skull was broken in three places. He then blamed all further line fluffs on concussion and was eventually allowed to carry his script by a guilty looking Viking. Thereafter, the scene flowed perfectly, but after all the violence and shouting, the comedy was gone and nobody laughed, apart from when Vern grew bored and started feeling around in his pockets. He was probably looking for his pencil, but the sneaky manner in which he was shifting his hands, made it look like he was up to something unsavoury.
Tried to strike up a conversation with the girls playing Helena and Hermia. It didn’t work out so well. After a few minutes of chatting they ended up talking to each other about a science project and then moved off, completely forgetting that I was even there. Guess I’ll have to scratch their names off the hit list. The problem is, besides them and VPH there aren’t exactly too many other choices.
If this is what professional theatre is really all about, then I’m not so sure I want it to be my career.
Wednesday 19th August
16:00 ‘Your mom’s on the phone,’ said Penny in an officious tone. The afternoon sun pouring through the window had defeated both Vern and I. What began as an earnest homework session evolved into an afternoon sleepathon.
‘Sounds like she was crying,’ said Penny as she led me out of the building and across the courtyard. ‘What do you think she’s crying about?’
‘Dunno,’ I replied sleepily.
‘Sorry, I wasn’t meant to ask that,’ said Penny without appearing too apologetic.
Wombat’s dead or the pub’s gone under. That’s what I was thinking. But mostly I thought it was Wombat. I took a deep breath, prepared myself for the worst, and then picked up the waiting receiver. I closed the door of the phone box with my foot but Penny didn’t take the hint and waited outside, obviously planning on listening in to some interesting gossip. I opened the door again and asked Penny for some privacy. She said, ‘Whatever.’ And skulked off looking highly offended.
‘Hello,’ I said in a voice that wasn’t mine.
‘Spud!’ shouted a high-pitched and rather alarmed voice.
‘Yes,’ I replied.
‘It’s me!’ said the voice. ‘Why did it take you so long to get to the phone?’
I breathed out a great sigh of relief. The good news is that it wasn’t Mom and nobody had died or gone bankrupt. The bad news was that I was now stuck with Garlic on the other end of the line.
GARLIC Hey, Spud, have you scored any chicks yet? Boggo says you guys are having full-on orgies every night.
SPUD I’m bored with orgies.
GARLIC Bored with orgies! Hey, tell me, is Vern still acting all moggy?
SPUD Yesterday he was wearing only one sock at rehearsals.
GARLIC (Roaring with laughter) Noways! What a retard! What else?
SPUD Um … that’s about it.
GARLIC What do you mean that’s it? What about Rambo?
SPUD What about Rambo?
GARLIC What’s he planning?
SPUD Nothing.
GARLIC Nothing!
Pause.
GARLIC What else?
SPUD That’s all.
GARLIC That’s all?
SPUD Yip.
I returned to the common room where Brenda and Penny were watching Rambo doing a physical workout in only a small pair of running shorts.
Sunday 23rd August
Weekends at Wrexham aren’t exactly the most exciting days on the school calendar. Aside from meals and rehearsals, we’re confined to the house and even then, we have Mr Owen snooping around and giving us stern lectures and firing personal insults. We can’t even hang out with the other boys in the cast. Technically we can pay them a visit, but that means hanging out at the headmistress’s house with Spike and Smith, which isn’t worth the effort.
On the female front, nobody has even come close to scoring. There’s a rumour that Victoria Perez Hamilton and Rambo have a secret thing going on, but Rambo has denied it and says VPH does nothing for him. This must surely be a lie. In fact, the only girls I ever really get to speak to are the piranha girls in the morning and afternoons, and Mr Owen, who has taken to sneaking up and ambushing us with a nasty reprimand for whatever rule or regulation it is that we have broken. Further bad news is that Viking is so distressed with the state of the Dream that he’s not even allowing the cast to go home for the long weekend. That means no break for five more weeks, by which time living 24/7 in a tiny room with Vern may well have driven me bonkers.
On a more positive note …
It seems that I can’t think of much that is positive in my situation except for the fact that it can’t really get much more boring and monotonous.
15:30 Decided to kickstart my internal energy battery with a call home. Nobody answered. I then tried Amanda, but the girl who answere
d said ‘Ms Lawrence’ had gone home to study for the weekend. I chickened out of calling her at home because I didn’t know what to say if her dad answered. ‘Hi Mr Lawrence, thanks a million for creating that great painting of your naked daughter in a seductive pose!’
Not sure if painting your daughter in the nude would classify as more obscene than Vern repeatedly drawing the naked Garlic covered in Vaseline?
After my complete lack of success in the phone box I wandered around the quadrangle for a few minutes, debating whether I should sneak off on a highly rebellious afternoon walk around the school. I thought about scaling a drainpipe and then riding the curtain through the window of a girl’s room like Indiana Jones.
‘You boy!’ shouted Mr Owen from the open door of her office. ‘What are you up to?’
‘Just going over my lines, ma’am,’ I said in an innocent voice.
‘Well, get back to your quarters immediately!’ ordered Mr Owen in a menacing tone.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ I said, and put my head down and walked very quickly back to my cell.
21:00 Viking is losing the plot. He’s already been hauled in to see the headmistress because one of the girls’ parents phoned in to complain about our director’s aggressive behaviour during rehearsals. He has daily rows with the building contractors, because with three weeks until curtain up, the theatre isn’t anywhere near ready yet. It’s probably a blessing in disguise that Viking is losing his voice although his hoarse whispering into a megaphone is none the less thoroughly disturbing.
Wednesday 26th August
The mechanicals were on fire at this evening’s rehearsal. The play within the play scene was a scream (quite literally) and my high-pitched Thisby voice was cracking the girls up. The Guv is brilliant as Bottom and the moment when Titania (VPH) strokes his donkey ears and kisses him made the entire cast fall about with merriment. Our scene brought a broad smile to Viking’s face and suddenly it felt like the sun had broken through the clouds and everybody relaxed and laughed. It’s like a real school play again – like Oliver.
Spud - Learning to Fly Page 25